


Monday Morning

by jane_with_a_j



Series: Somewhere Down Below [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (why do I keep doing this to him?), Crowley's morning has been ruined again, M/M, Protective Crowley, also there's some fluffy bits because who doesn't like fluffy bits?, aziraphale is a cheeky bastard, but they're definitely having sex offscreen, there's no actual smut here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_with_a_j/pseuds/jane_with_a_j
Summary: It's the morning after the morning after that fateful Saturday when the world didn't end, and Crowley and Aziraphale wake up together.  They've saved the world, they've got each other, and the future looks beautiful.  So of course that's when an old enemy turns up, lurking around the bookshop.But things are different now.  This time, they've got the upper hand ... sort of.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Somewhere Down Below [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559299
Comments: 27
Kudos: 169





	Monday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to do a sequel to Somewhere Down Below, but a few people wanted to see the eventual happy ending, and it turns out I'm one of them. (If you haven't read that one yet, I don't think it's 100% necessary, but this fic will make more sense if you do.)
> 
> This story is a fair bit loopier than the first one, because it's been that kind of week, and what is tone consistency anyway?

On a particular Monday morning, in a seldom-used bed, in a seldom-used bedroom, in a seldom-used flat above a very old London bookshop, an angel was sound asleep. The demon who lay in the bed beside him was not. He'd been awoken some time ago by the morning sun, shining through a pair of faded tartan-patterned curtains.

For half a moment, he hadn't known where he was. Then he'd remembered, and for another half a moment, he'd been terrified that it had all been a dream. Not that he'd ever dreamed before, but still. There's a first time for everything, right?

Crowley lay on his side, staring at the sleeping angel. Aziraphale rarely slept, but here he was, curled up in a mountain of soft blankets and fluffy pillows, looking more peaceful than Crowley had ever seen him. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. He was snoring lightly, and drooling a little on the pillow. A fond smile tugged at the corners of Crowley's lips. Aziraphale rarely slept, true, but right now, he had earned his rest. If not from the frantic events of the past week – he still couldn't quite believe they had actually succeeded in cancelling the apocalypse – then from the exertions of the previous afternoon and evening.

A first time for everything, indeed.

He held back for as long as he could, not wanting to disturb him. But eventually, he found he couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch that soft cheek, to run his fingers through that fluffy blond hair. To think, after so long, that he could finally have this, that _they_ could finally have this – he needed to touch, needed to feel that it was real.

Aziraphale stirred. “Mm,” he said. He opened his eyes. In the tartan-filtered sunlight, his eyes were more grey than blue, and more green than grey. When he met Crowley's gaze, a brief flicker of surprise crossed his face, and then he smiled.

And oh, that smile. The things Crowley would do, the things he _had done_ , over millennia, just to see that smile. If Heaven only knew, they'd issue Aziraphale a bloody commendation, instead of– but no, this wasn't the time for thoughts like that.

“Good morning, my dear,” said Aziraphale.

“Nng,” said Crowley. “Morning.”

“I, oh. I can't quite believe you're here.”

“Me neither, angel.”

“I imagined it, you know. So many times. Not just ... last night. This part, too.”

“Me too, angel.”

“Mm,” said Aziraphale. He sighed and shifted position, the blankets falling away from his shoulder as he did so. Crowley's eyes were inexorably drawn to that patch of newly-exposed skin. Skin that, he now knew, felt every bit as soft as it looked, and tasted like spiced honey. Right there, where the neck met the shoulder, were the remnants of multiple bite marks. Crowley felt himself blush at the memory of how those had gotten there. Aziraphale was speaking, he realized, and he had no idea what the angel had said. He stared blankly for a moment. Aziraphale huffed out a little laugh. “What has you so distracted, dearest?” There was a teasing note in his voice.

“You,” said Crowley, truthfully. “M'sorry, what was it you just said?”

“I said, I hope the reality lived up to your imagination.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Oh.” A lazy grin spread across his face. “Yeah. Absolutely, angel. And then some.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, looking pleased. “I'm so glad.”

“Now that it's morning,” said Crowley, “There's one more thing I've always wanted to do.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Only one thing? My dear, we _were_ busy yesterday, but I do believe there are still quite a few things left to try."

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “That's not what I... wait. Did you have something particular in mind?”

“Weren't you about to suggest something?”

“Well, yeah, but ... it can wait. You first, angel.”

“Oh, well, in that case...” And that, that was a different smile on the angel's face. A positively _wicked_ smile. It did things to Crowley's heart. His heart, and his ... other bits.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale. “I think it would be easiest to show you.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Okay, that... oh.”

“Oh,” he repeated, after a moment, then–

“Oh. Angel. _Angel._ ”

\--

Some time later, half of the blankets had somehow found their way to the floor, and Crowley was sprawled on his back with a dazed smile on his face. Aziraphale lay facing him, looking rather smug.

“What were you going to suggest before?” Aziraphale asked.

“Hmm?”

“Before,” Aziraphale repeated. “You said there was something you'd always wanted to do.”

“Mmm, wuzzat?”

Aziraphale poked him in the ribs. “Crowley!”

Crowley looked over at him with a soppy grin. “Can't blame me for being distracted right now, angel. S'your fault.”

“What were you going to say before?” Aziraphale repeated.

“Right,” said Crowley. “Um. How do you feel about breakfast in bed? I could run across the street to that café you like. Pick up some pastries, tea, maybe some fresh fruit?” Some people might have said that breakfast in bed was a strange thing to fantasize about. Those people had never seen Aziraphale eat.

Aziraphale looked at him. Then he smiled. “My dear, that sounds just lovely.” He gave a happy little wiggle. “Shall I come with you?”

“Nuh,” said Crowley. “You're going to stay right here and wait for me.”

One eyebrow quirked up. “I am?”

“Mm. Yes. Right here, exactly as you are right now.” Crowley leaned over to tuck the blanket around him, and kissed him, very firmly. “Understand?”

Aziraphale smiled up at him. “Perfectly, my dear.”

\--

It was the work of a moment to miracle himself dressed, his hair styled exactly as he liked it. He felt positively giddy as he clattered down the stairs. They'd finally done it. Finally broken down all of the walls that had stood between them, finally crossed the line and admitted how they felt and what they wanted. All it had taken was the end of the world.

What Aziraphale wanted was _him_. He could still hardly believe it.

The bookshop stood, restored, almost exactly as it had been before the world had nearly ended. No smoke stains, no scorch marks, no charred bits of paper, no sign at all that there had ever been a fire here.

It was beautiful.

Crowley was so engrossed in his own thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that something wasn't right. There was a distinct smell of _evil_ in the air, and he was quite sure it wasn't coming from him. He slowed, feeling his hackles rise. There was another demon here somewhere.

He rounded an overloaded bookshelf and saw him. There, directly by the front door, not even attempting to hide.

“Hello, Crowley,” said Asmodeus.

“Oh, fucking Heaven,” said Crowley. “What are you doing here?” It came out sounding more annoyed than terrified, probably because, in that first moment of recognition, he was indeed more annoyed than terrified. There was a perfect morning ruined.

The terror came afterwards. This was a Prince of Hell, not as powerful as Beelzebub, to be sure, but a Prince nonetheless. And if he'd fallen in stature over the course of the last half-century or so, well, that was a little bit Crowley's fault. He was probably mad.

Asmodeus smiled a wicked smile. “Interesting choice of words,” he said. “I presume you and that angel have finally gotten on with it?”

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “What's it to you?”

The Prince spread his hands wide. “Call it a professional interest,” he said. “Demon of Lust, surely you remember. And besides,” he added, “I'm wondering if I should be taking credit for playing matchmaker.”

Crowley opened his mouth to make a sarcastic retort, something along the lines of _don't flatter yourself,_ then stopped himself.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I was looking for you,” said Asmodeus. “The rumours are flying fast and furious Downstairs that you stopped Armageddon, survived a holy water bath, and thoroughly humiliated Beelzebub in the process.”

“And?”

The Prince shrugged. “I like your style,” he said.

Oh, dear Satan. Not this again. “Really,” said Crowley.

“Really,” said Asmodeus.

“So you're telling me that there are no hard feelings about how things went down sixty years ago. And before you answer,” said Crowley, holding up one hand, “I should point out that I am very much aware of the significance of the spot where you're standing, and the fact that you haven't moved from it since I came downstairs.”

“The wards,” said Asmodeus.

“Yep,” said Crowley. “I was here when Aziraphale set up those wards. Bit of a design challenge. Had to find a way to keep demons in general out while still allowing one specific demon in. The easiest way to do it was to factor in intent.”

“No demon in or out who means your angel harm,” said Asmodeus. “Clever. But you seem to have made a small miscalculation.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“In _or out_ ,” said Asmodeus.

“What?”

“The wards prevented me from entering,” the Prince explained, slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “They are also preventing me from leaving.”

“What? No.” That couldn't be right. “They've never worked that way before.” Oh, Aziraphale was not going to like this. Or maybe he would, who knew? A literal Prince of Hell blocking the doorway had to be a surefire way to keep customers away.

“Believe me, Crowley, I'm as displeased about the situation as you are,” said Asmodeus.

“I doubt that,” said Crowley. He backed away, keeping his eyes on Asmodeus for as long as possible while moving toward the stairway that led to Aziraphale's flat. “Angel?” he called, adding a miraculous little boost to his voice to make sure Aziraphale would hear him. For a moment, no answer, and he wondered if the angel had fallen asleep again – and oh, bless it, now his head was full of thoughts of a sleepy angel and what this morning might have been. Fuck.

“Yes, dearest?” Aziraphale called down.

“Um. You'd better get dressed and come down here.”

It was less than a minute before he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Crowley found himself wondering whether Aziraphale had miracled himself dressed, or whether he was able to get all of those layers on so quickly because he'd worn the same clothes for so long, and had a lot of practice with them. It appeared to be the latter, because as the angel emerged into the bookshop, his bowtie was hanging untied around his neck, and he was still buttoning the last couple of buttons on his old waistcoat.

“Crowley, what's wr– oh. _You_.”

“Good morning, angel,” said Asmodeus. Crowley bristled. _Angel_ didn't sound like a friendly endearment on the Prince's lips, but neither did it quite sound like the insult he would have expected. “Sleep well?” Asmodeus added, with a nasty little grin.

“Quite,” said Aziraphale coldly. He folded his hands primly in front of him. “I presume you're caught in my wards.”

“So I am,” said Asmodeus.

“The wards are acting up,” Crowley said. “He can't get in, but he says he can't get out, either.”

“That's ... odd,” said Aziraphale. He took a step toward the Prince, then hesitated as Crowley held out an arm to block his way. “Do you suppose he's lying?”

Crowley had considered that. If Aziraphale went over and crouched down to inspect the wards, it would be easy enough for Asmodeus to get the drop on him. But then again, if Asmodeus wasn't really being contained by the wards, he could have come upstairs at any time and caught them unawares.

And there was an unpleasant thought. Crowley made a mental note to make some modifications to the wards once this was all sorted out. Something with alarms. Very noisy alarms.

Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley's arm. “Give me a moment, my dear,” he said, then turned and disappeared into the back room.

Crowley looked back at Asmodeus. The Prince was grinning from ear to ear.

“What?” Crowley snapped.

“I love it,” said Asmodeus. “A demon and an angel fucking. It's just so marvellously _wrong_.”

“Oh, shove it,” said Crowley. He was officially past the point where he had to put up with this shit.

“I think you should reconsider coming to work for me,” said Asmodeus. “Beelzebub certainly won't have you anymore.”

“I think you're confused about who won't have whom,” said Crowley. “I'm retiring.”

“My team was ... significantly reduced, after the incident with your angel,” said Asmodeus, as though he hadn't heard. “Unsurprising, really. Can't expect loyalty among demons.”

Crowley folded his arms and stared at the Prince.

“What I'm saying is, I've got some high-level openings,” said Asmodeus.

Crowley continued staring.

“You wouldn't have to work with Nyx,” the Prince continued. “She was one of the first to jump ship. Went to work for _Berith_ , if you can believe that.” His lip curled.

“No,” said Crowley. “I'm out. I'm done. I'm not interested.”

“You should–” Whatever Asmodeus was about to say was cut off as Aziraphale reemerged from the back, carrying a large, brightly-coloured plastic gun.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Crowley.

“That depends,” said Aziraphale, “on whether you think it's a pump-action water pistol full of holy water.” He shot a meaningful look at Asmodeus, who was suddenly looking a little bit less confident. “It should allow for better control of the spray than something like your plant mister.”

Crowley hesitated as Aziraphale held out the water pistol.

“Angel, are you–”

“It's perfectly safe for _you_ ,” said Aziraphale. “Just like your plant mister the other day,” he added, eyebrows raised.

“Oh,” said Crowley, catching his meaning. “But wh–”

“If I'm going to break the wards,” said Aziraphale, “I'm going to need you to ... what's the expression? Cover me?”

“I was going to ask where you got this,” said Crowley. “How do you even know about Super Soakers?”

“I confiscated it from a child who had some unfortunate ideas about appropriate places to use water pistols,” said Aziraphale. He frowned. “I intended to give it back, but his mother seemed relieved to be rid of it. Told me to keep it.” He looked over at the demon caught in his wards. “I realized that it might come in handy,” he said, “so I did.”

“I hardly think this is necessary,” said Asmodeus.

“The fact that you're caught in the ward at all,” said Aziraphale, “indicates that you came here intending me harm.” He handed the water pistol to Crowley.

“So we make a deal,” said Asmodeus. “You let me out in exchange for a promise not to harm you.” He actually sounded nervous. Good.

“Would you honour such a bargain?” Aziraphale asked.

Asmodeus looked affronted. “Of course I would,” he said. “If there's one thing you can trust when it comes to demons, we honour our bargains.” His lip quirked up in a half-smile. “You just need to watch out for the fine print.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, “seeing as I'm not in the mood to haggle over fine print–”

“No fine print, then,” said Asmodeus quickly. “You let me out, and I'll leave. I won't harm you in any way. Now or ever.”

“Very well,” said Aziraphale. “We have a deal.” He glanced back at Crowley. “Of course,” he added, “if it looks for even a moment like you intend to violate the, ah, the spirit of our bargain...”

Crowley grinned and raised the water pistol.

“That's ... fair,” said Asmodeus.

Aziraphale stepped forward and knelt to inspect the wards. Asmodeus loomed over him in a way that made Crowley very nervous. He hoped the Prince didn't decide to call their bluff the way Hastur had with the plant mister. After about a minute, Aziraphale stood and took a step back.

“We seem to have a problem,” he said.

“What?”

“The wards have changed.” Aziraphale frowned. “As the one who set them, I should be able to undo them. But they aren't responding.”

“I don't understand,” said Crowley. “How is that– oh.” Aziraphale's eyes met his. “Adam?”

“I don't see what else it could be,” said Aziraphale.

“Should we ... call him? Only I got the sense he would prefer to be left alone.”

“Do you have a better idea?” asked Aziraphale. “Because I certainly don't.”

“What's happening?” asked Asmodeus.

“Shut up,” said Crowley. He needed to think.

“I'll call,” said Aziraphale. “You ... you stay here. Keep an eye on our guest.” The angel disappeared once more into the back room. Crowley listened as he spoke softly into the telephone, no doubt using a miracle or two to prevent the Youngs from finding anything amiss with the idea that a grown man they'd never met would be calling and asking to speak to their eleven-year-old son. When Aziraphale finally hung up the phone and stepped out of the back room, he looked mildly deflated.

“Anything?” Crowley asked.

“Adam isn't home,” said Aziraphale, in a low voice. “Apparently he's out playing in the woods with his friends.”

“So what do we do?”

“Either we wait,” said Aziraphale, “or we go to Tadfield and speak to him in person.” He pursed his lips. “I'd prefer to wait,” he said. His eyes drifted over to the front of the shop, where the demon Prince stood watching them. “I don't like the idea of leaving _him_ alone in the shop, wards or no.”

Crowley swore. He didn't like the idea either, but he liked the idea of hanging around the bookshop all day with Asmodeus even less.

“I suppose just one of us could go,” said Aziraphale, after a moment. “It would have to be you, though. You have the car.” His tone said quite clearly that he knew what Crowley was going to think of that idea. “You wouldn't have to worry about me,” he added. “I have the water pistol.”

“Yeah, but... it...” Crowley raised his eyebrows and made a vague hand gesture. _It isn't really holy water in there_ , he did not say.

Aziraphale held up a hand. “If it would make you feel better about it,” he said, “I do have another one, stored away somewhere safe. I'd be perfectly safe with _two_.”

Again, Crowley caught his meaning. It didn't matter, though, No bloody way was he going off to bloody Oxfordshire and leaving the angel alone with bloody Asmodeus.

“How long would it take you to get there?” asked Aziraphale. “Taking into account the way you drive, I mean?”

“Too long,” said Crowley.

“I'll be fine,” said Aziraphale. “Truly.”

“Nuh uh,” said Crowley. A memory popped up, unbidden, of the bookshop in flames. The idea of bundling the angel off into the back room and spending the rest of the day guarding the door was not remotely practical, but he seriously considered doing it anyway.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “I understand that you're worried. But I can handle myself.” He flicked his wrist, and a second water pistol appeared in his hand, the tank and trigger a blinding shade of neon yellow-green.

“Is that–”

“It is.”

Aziraphale cradled the toy carefully. Crowley took a step back.

“I don't like having this in the same room with you any more than you do,” Aziraphale murmured, careful to position himself facing away from where Asmodeus still stood. “Probably less than you do, to be honest.”

“Is this your way of sending me away, then?”

Aziraphale sighed. “The more I think about it, the more I think waiting is a bad idea. What if he manages to break the wards before we can speak to Adam? We need to get this sorted out, sooner rather than later.” He shifted his grip on the water pistol and lowered his voice further. “And if it does come down to needing this, I'd prefer you were well clear, dearest.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. As loath as he was to admit it, and as little as he liked it, Aziraphale was right. If Asmodeus somehow managed to break the wards, an angel with a Super Soaker full of holy water stood a better chance against him than ... well, than anything Crowley could bring to the table. He'd just be a liability.

But oh, he did not like it.

He looked down at his feet. When he looked up again, Aziraphale had a slightly pained smile on his face. “You've just realized that I'm right,” the angel said, “haven't you?”

“Guh,” said Crowley. “Don't get used to it, angel.” He stalked across the bookshop to stand face to face with Asmodeus. “Alright, listen here,” he said. “I'm going to go and talk to the one person who can maybe get you out of here. Your bargain with Aziraphale still stands. We find a way to let you out, and you leave him alone.”

“Leave _us_ alone,” said Aziraphale.

“Right,” said Crowley. “Leave _us_ alone.”

Asmodeus cocked an eyebrow at him. “Your terms are acceptable,” he said.

“And if you pull any tricks,” Crowley went on–

“No tricks,” said Asmodeus.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “I don't trust you,” he muttered.

Asmodeus smiled at him, showing far too many teeth. “Nor should you,” he said. “We're demons, after all. I don't expect you to believe me when I say that I really did come here looking for you, even though it's true. Any thoughts I may have had about the angel were merely ... afterthoughts.” He glanced in Aziraphale's direction. “I don't like angels,” he said.

Crowley made a vaguely threatening noise in the back of his throat, then turned back to Aziraphale. “If he tries anything,” he said, “anything at all, don't hesitate.” He pressed his lips together. “I have a quicker way to get to Tadfield and back than the Bentley,” he said, pulling out his mobile phone. “What's the Youngs' number?”

Aziraphale told him.

“Great,” said Crowley, smiling just a bit too broadly as he punched in the numbers. “When it rings, answer it,” he said. And then he heard a voice on the other end of the line as someone picked up, and with a thought, he plunged into the phone network and was gone.

This time around, he wasn't attempting to buy time until the machine picked up. He just wanted to get where he was going as quickly as possible. So it was only a matter of seconds before he popped out into a rather friendly-looking kitchen, face to face with a very surprised Deirdre Young.

“Uh, hello,” he said, pushing more than a little demonic persuasion into his words. “Lovely morning. Lovely, perfectly normal morning.”

“Um,” said Mrs. Young. “Yes? Perfectly normal?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” said Crowley. “Nothing at all to worry about. I just need to know where your son is.”

“Hogback Wood?” said Mrs. Young.

“Right,” said Crowley. “And how do I get there?”

The directions were simple. Should be easy to remember. Crowley scribbled them down on a scrap of paper anyway. Wouldn't do to waste any time getting lost, and given the state of his nerves right now, he didn't entirely trust his short-term memory. As he made to leave, Mrs. Young frowned.

“Now, hold on,” she said, her voice a bit steadier, a bit more coloured with parental authority. “Who, exactly–”

“Nothing to be concerned about,” said Crowley. “I'm completely ... well, that is to say. I mean Adam no harm. Just need his help with something. You have nothing to worry about,” he repeated. “In fact, I was never here, right?”

“Right?” he heard Adam's mother repeat, as he turned and dashed out the door.

Despite its long legs, Crowley's body wasn't really built for running. By the time he reached the trail that led into the wood, he'd already tangled his feet together and nearly fallen on his face four times. And that was on the road. Given the unevenness of the trail that stretched off into the trees, he realized he'd better slow to a walk.

(Crowley's fancy snakeskin shoes weren't really built for running, either, but that wasn't an issue, since uncomfortable shoes were for other people.)

The trail curved up ahead, vanishing into the trees. Crowley kept walking. He'd been a city demon for quite a long time now, but there was a part of him that felt at home in a forest like this, even if it was only a pale imitation of the dark, wild places that had once covered so much more of the world. He flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. This was a tame wood. Unless you counted the Hellhound, and possibly the Antichrist himself, he was the only predator of any significance for miles around.

Best not to think about being a predator, though. He wasn't _hunting_ anyone. He was just going to find Adam and ask him for help. No big deal.

He still couldn't detect Adam. Whatever the magical protection had been that had hidden him from the demon's senses before, it was still active. He could, however, detect the Hellhound, which is how he knew he was headed in the right direction.

It only took a few minutes to find the spot where the (possibly former?) Antichrist and his gang were playing. A few minutes, that to Crowley's anxious mind, felt like hours. He stopped at the edge of the clearing, where the children had rigged up a rather impressive clubhouse from scavenged things. Currently, one of them was attempting to walk across a piece of rope that was tied between two trees, about a foot off the ground. He didn't make it three steps before he overbalanced and fell, landing on his backside in the leaf litter.

“It's harder than it looks,” the boy complained.

“Actually,” said one of the other children, “I think it might be easier if you went faster.”

“I don't think so,” said a third child, the only girl in the group. “You've seen the way they do it at the circus. They go slowly.”

“Maybe we should use one of those long poles for balance,” said the first boy, the one who had fallen.

“What do you think, Adam?” asked the girl.

Adam turned his head, looking away from his friends and – ngk – directly at the spot where Crowley was standing. “I think we're being watched,” he said. He cocked his head to one side. “You should come out now,” he said, raising his voice just enough. Crowley gave an involuntary shudder. That voice still held far more authority than any eleven-year-old ought to have.

“Um,” said Crowley, emerging into the clearing. “Hi.” The other three children were staring at him as though trying to figure out where they'd seen him before. Adam's expression was unnervingly knowing. Crowley once again had that same feeling he'd had at the airbase, the feeling that the boy was looking right at him, not at his clothing or his face or any of his affectations, but at _him_ , the deep-down parts that even he sometimes pretended weren't there.

“You want something,” said Adam. It wasn't a question.

“Actually,” said one of the other boys, “I don't think we should be talking to strangers.”

“Is he a stranger, though?” said the girl. She looked at Crowley. “Why do you look so familiar?” she asked, a clear challenge in her tone.

“It's alright,” said Adam. He took a few steps toward Crowley, the improbably adorable Hellhound following close at his heels.

“Is this about what happened on Saturday?” the girl asked. “The thing none of us can quite remember?”

Adam looked down at Crowley, no small feat given that the demon was twice the boy's height. “Is it?” he asked.

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “Sort of?” He didn't actually need to breathe, but he took a deep breath anyway. “I– first of all, thank you. For, y'know. Stopping it all. And, uh, for putting everything back.” His right leg was twitching, his foot tapping out an irregular rhythm on the packed ground. “The thing is, the thing is, ah, you ... you did a bit too good of a job with some parts of Aziraphale's bookshop.”

“What d'you mean?” asked Adam.

Crowley looked over his shoulder at his three friends, who were openly staring.

Adam lowered his voice. “Don't worry about them,” he said. “They'll forget there was anything strange about you as soon as you're out of sight.” He cocked his head to one side. “You could make that happen yourself, y'know,” he said.

“I, uh, I wouldn't want to presume,” said Crowley. “I'm trying to, ah, to 'mess people about' a little less.”

Adam nodded once. His expression didn't change. “So,” he said, “what's the problem, then?”

\--

Crowley didn't return to the Youngs' house to make the call that would send him home. He figured it was safer not to meddle with Adam's parents any further. Instead, he found a public telephone inside the village community centre. The call rang twice, and then he heard Aziraphale's voice on the other end.

“It's me,” he said. “Everything okay there?”

“Perfectly,” said Aziraphale. Crowley could hear the grin in the angel's voice as he added, “Tickety-boo.” Crowley shook his head and half-smiled, in spite of himself. “How about on your end?” Aziraphale asked. “Did you find Adam? Was he able to help?”

“I'll be right there,” said Crowley. “I'll explain once I'm back.” And then, with a thought, he plunged back into the phone system.

When he popped out on the other end, the first thing he did was check to see that Asmodeus was still contained in the wards. Which he was. Of course he was. Adam had assured him that he had nothing to worry about on that front.

The second thing he did was pull his angel into a fierce hug.

“I told you I would be fine here,” Aziraphale murmured, but he hugged Crowley back _very_ tightly.

“Get a room!” shouted Asmodeus. When both angel and demon turned to glare at him, he grinned and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Or, you know, don't. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

Aziraphale very pointedly rolled his eyes, which only made Asmodeus grin wider.

“What's wrong with _him?_ ” Crowley asked.

“Crowley,” said the Prince. “You never told me your angel was such a cheeky bastard.”

“I– what?” Crowley's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Angel, what did you do to him?”

Aziraphale huffed. “What do you mean, what did I do to him?”

“I mean,” said Crowley, “that I left you alone with him for, what, half an hour? Forty-five minutes? And now this very scary Prince of Hell is grinning at me like a lunatic and using the word 'cheeky' in a sentence like that's a normal thing for a Prince of Hell to do.”

“It's nice to know _somebody_ still thinks I'm scary,” said Asmodeus.

“Oh, hush,” said Aziraphale. “The fresh start did you some good. Or it would, if you let it.”

“I'm a demon, I don't want to be done any _good_ ,” said Asmodeus.

“What the actual bloody Heaven is going on here?” said Crowley.

“It seems,” said Aziraphale, “that Asmodeus has been a bit aimless since he fell out of favour Downstairs.”

“Do I detect a note of _pity_ in your voice, angel? Have you forgotten what his people did to you?”

“I have not,” said Aziraphale. “Which is why it's all for the best if he turns over a new leaf, so to speak.”

Crowley's mouth fell open. “He's a _demon_ , Aziraphale. We don't just ... turn into good people.”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I didn't say a word, dearest.”

“No one said anything about turning into a good person,” said Asmodeus. “But I've realized that I need to refocus my energies. Go back to my roots as it were.”

“Which means ... what exactly?” said Crowley, feeling more than a little lost.

“Well, for starters,” said Aziraphale, “almost as soon as you left, he started trying to get under my skin by making lewd suggestions.”

“What,” said Crowley.

“Oh yes,” said Aziraphale. “Quite filthy. There was only one sensible thing to do.”

Crowley looked from Aziraphale to Asmodeus, whose face lit up with mirth. It looked like the headlights of an oncoming train.

“What ... what was the sensible thing?” he asked, not at all sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“I started taking notes,” said Aziraphale.

Asmodeus burst out into a deep, full-throated laugh. Crowley just stood there, trying not to sputter.

“Well,” said Aziraphale, with a completely inappropriate primness to his tone, “it's not as though it's every day that one has the opportunity to get sex tips from the Prince of Lust himself.” His lip quirked up and his eyes twinkled. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “that look on your face right now? His initial reaction was very much the same.”

“I told you,” said Asmodeus. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “This, whatever this is that's happening here? I don't like it.” His voice dropped to a low hiss as he scowled at Aziraphale. “Are the two of you serioussssly ganging up on me right now?”

Aziraphale's face fell. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured, his voiced pitched low so that only Crowley could hear. “It isn't like that. I only meant to show him that I'm not afraid of him.”

“He seems to think you've suddenly become friends or something,” said Crowley. “Are you sure you haven't forgotten what he did to you?”

“I have not,” said Aziraphale. “Believe me, my dear, I want him gone as badly as you do. But you must admit, it can't hurt if he decides that he likes me.” He shot a brief glance back to where the Prince still stood. “What did Adam say?”

Crowley's shoulders slumped. “Adam and his friends,” he said, loudly enough for both Aziraphale and Asmodeus to hear, “are going to the circus this afternoon.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He said that if we still have a Prince of Hell problem in the morning, he'll convince his parents to take a day trip into the city to help. But he's not coming today.”

“He said _if?_ ”

“Uh,” said Crowley. “Yeah. The wards trapped him because he was thinking of doing you harm. If he were to resolve _not_ to do you any harm, they wouldn't be able to hold him.”

“Oh,” said Asmodeus. “Is that all?” He took a step forward, out of the wards.

Two things happened at once. Crowley, eyes wide and mouth open in shock, pushed Aziraphale behind him. And Aziraphale started to laugh.

“Angel, this is not funny!”

“It's just as I said,” said Aziraphale. “It can't hurt if he decides he likes me.”

“So that's it?” Crowley spluttered, staring at Asmodeus. “After everything. You just decide that you don't want to hurt him after all, and you stroll out of the wards, and... what?”

“You could invite me to brunch,” said Asmodeus.

Crowley hissed. “Give me the water pistol, angel.”

“No need for that,” said Asmodeus. “I was joking.” He straightened his jacket. “I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. But do think about my offer, Crowley. When you decide that retirement doesn't suit you – and don't give me that look, we both know that sooner or later you will – you know how to reach me.” He nodded to Aziraphale. “You too, angel,” he said. “If Heaven ever decides to get rid of you, officially as it were, you'd be welcome on my team.”

“Yeah, that's not going to happen,” said Crowley.

“We'll see,” said Asmodeus, lips curling in something resembling a smile. And with that he turned, stepped out the door, and was gone. Aziraphale stared after him, looking a bit distressed.

“You aren't going to Fall, angel,” said Crowley.

“You can't know that for certain,” said Aziraphale. He stared at the empty doorway a moment longer, then huffed out a little sigh. “But you're probably right.” He looked up at Crowley with a small but genuine smile. “And if I ever do, I know you'll be there to catch me.” He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the demon's lips. When he pulled away, his eyes were sparkling. He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. “You know,” he said. “It's not too late for breakfast in bed.”

Crowley pulled him in for another kiss. “I suppose it isn't,” he said, smiling against the angel's lips.

“Mm,” said Aziraphale. “And maybe after that...”

“What?”

“Well,” said Aziraphale. “It would be a shame to let those notes go to waste.”

**Author's Note:**

> So there is this trope, the demons-can't-help-liking-adorable-bastard-Aziraphale trope, that I love to bits when it's done well, but that I wouldn't have thought would come within a thousand miles of this particular continuity. But here we are, and I regret nothing.


End file.
